Alice Maurine Tippets Harrison

Alice Maurine Tippets Harrison was born at Georgetown, Idaho on November 21, 1913 to Joseph Maurice Tippets and Hannah Amorette Wixom. She was the 3rd child in a family of 13 children. This family was very close. There has always been much love and loyalty between them. They have always been very happy when they are able to be together. At the time of the death of Grandpa Tippets, he had 113 direct descendants. Mother was preceded in death by her mother in 1946 and her father in 1970 and her brother Ray last year. She is survived by 7 brothers and 4 sisters.

Mother's formal education was all at Georgetown, Idaho where she attend-ed elementary and high school. She and her brothers and sisters went to school by horse and buggy. They lived 4 miles from school and if a horse was lame they walked. But her education never ended. She loved to read and study and did so at every opportunity even to the last days of her life.

I am sure she began her life of service in her home with her parents and brothers and sisters. No stranger was ever within their gates who turned away without being fed and cared for. During the Depression many relatives and strangers were ministered to in their home, When mother was about 12 years old she began to spend some summers helping at the homes of relatives who needed assistance in Franklin and Preston, Idaho and Osmond, Wyoming.

She loved parties and dancing and being with people. She was always actively involved in everything around her. It was during one of these summers (1932?) that she met and fell in love with Leslie Alfred Harrison.

He courted her and on August 15, 1933, they were married in the temple for time and eternity in Salt Lake City, Utah. Dad had the house built and ready to move into when he brought mother home as a bride. All but one summer of her married life was lived in that same house.

To this union were born 8 children—2 boys and 6 girls. At first the house had only 3 rooms but as the children came and grew the house had to grow also. Rooms were added to the front, the back, upstairs and down. Whenever they could, Dad and Mother spent time and money fixing it up — and this winter—together, they paneled the living rooms. Mother always had many houseplants and they grew in profusion under her hand. Like the plants, her children grew and became a joy to her. Though we are spread far and wide, our every accomplishment was an event in her life. She was always proud of my dad and each achievement in his life was a source of pleasure to her. She worked hard to help him successfully carry out his responsibilities. During all this helping of her family, she always had time for compassionate service for others, caring for those in need. She thought it a privilege not a burden to care for her father and Earnest. In addition she held many positions and had many activities of her own. She was in the Stake Relief Society and once on Stake MIA. She was President of the ward Relief Society and Primary. She was a member of the Ward education committee, a teacher in all the auxiliaries of the church, chorister, choir member, and visiting teacher for 42 years in Osmond Ward. She loved the gospel and had a strong testimony of the truthfulness of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

She was involved in community service — a member of the fair committee many times, a member of the county planning committee, several positions in the local and county DUP. She was an enumerator for the census for 20 years. She wrote the Osmond news for the Star Valley Independent for over 20 years. She prepared and served banquets. We think the number of quilts she made for her family and others would number somewhere near 200.

Her life has been full and useful. If she ever did anything to hurt anyone it was not intentional. Above all she was our mother. She wanted the best for us and she worked hard to assure that we would have the things of true worth in our lives.

A few years ago I was home for a summer and was asked by the R. S. of Osmond Ward to give a tribute to my mother. I would like to give that same tribute to her again today.

There's one lady in this world who means the most to me.

Her looks are not too different from others you my see.

But in her I see a beauty that others may not know

She'll hold a spot within my heart wherever I will go.

She taught me all the useful things I need to live my life.

Her life has not been easy—she's had many hours of strife.

Her parents and 12 brothers and sisters helped her learn to serve

For her husband and 8 children life and happiness she preserved.

The life of service she has led has given me the goal

To try to become like her with all my heart and soul.

She’s held nearly all positions that a woman's allowed to hold

She performed her duties faithfully in sickness, health, and cold.

She supports her husband in a thousand different ways

Twice in the bishopric—when they were young and now again today.

The number of cows she's milked are too numerous to mention.

To lighten his large load was always her intention.

There always have been children everywhere she went

With her own, her grandchildren and yours, untold hours she has spent

To teach them to love each other and the gospel is her wish

She's thrilled when her little primary girls each leave her with a kiss.

For many years of her life her back has been a bother

But nearly always she's been able to go on one way or other.

When she was young she loved to dance and be always in the action

To be with happy people was to her a great attraction.

Her quilting talents are known abroad in several different states

Her reputation has been growing with every quilt she makes.

The ones I have that she has made will always be a treasure.

The miles of stitches she has sewn would take a while to measure.

If ever you should want a friend to help in time of need

I'd recommend you call her and she'd be there at full speed

She's made a million casseroles and a hundred dozen cakes

Or somewhere near those numbers for those who've had bad breaks.

When I look all around the world here's not one single other

Whom I would rather have near me, and proudly call my mother.

My mother died last Sunday, May 25, 1975 at 12:30 pm. We all miss her terribly but we have been granted assurance she has been called to a greater service and is happy. May God grant that her memory will bring satisfaction and fulfillment to the lives of each of us here today.

The Lord said, “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die... and it shall come to pass that those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them.”

1968

Merry Christmas from the House of Harrison

As the year draws to a close we can't help looking back to see just what has happened during the twelve months just past. Have we accomplished as much as we planned? Have we been a little more thoughtful and kind to all mankind than we were last year? Are we doing the things of most worth with our time, talents, means, and thoughts? Or are we wishing we could say that we could have tried just a little harder and accomplished a lot more? These are some of the thoughts I have had today as I was thinking of all my loved ones.

In thinking of our family my mind led me to our first-born, NaDee, and her professor husband, Jack, now living at Honolulu, Hawaii, where he is heading the Dept. of Agricultural Economics at the U of Hawaii, and she, with the last of their 6 children in school, has gone back for more education herself. It was so nice to have them come to Star Valley for the summer.

Next comes Darlene and her fine husband, Charles (Chuck), living at Billings, Montana, where he is an electronics engineer, working for MIT (Philco). They are buying a farm and raising Herford cattle. All their 3 sons are now in school, also, and Darlene does much of the machine work on the ranch. They sold their trailer house and bought a home this year.

Marilyn and husband Duane, are doing very well in their building and hardware business in Salt Lake City (Granger), Utah. Along with their 4 children they spend many weekends out on the lakes and rivers in their camper and with their boat have many happy hours water skiing. An enjoyable sight this summer at Bear Lake was their girls 12 and 10 getting up on their skis together and circling the lake several times without falling.

Virden, a student at Purdue University, lives at Lafayette, Indiana. He finished his studies this summer and is now working on his dissertation for a Ph.D. in Ag. Econ. and will be in Washington D.C. for the next few years. He along with his sweet and talented wife Jean and their 5 children made the long trip home this summer to be with the family. They have the youngest of our 21 grandchildren.

For the first time we have a married child living in the same town as we do. Adele and her husband, Noel, are now living in Grandma Harrison's home with their 3 children. She is having great fun learning to run a computer in an office. She also does all kinds of office work. Noel works in the factory where they make Polaris snowmobiles.

Dennis and Vicki are both students at the University of Wyoming at Laramie. He is a senior and she a junior. He is still looking, but Vicki has found her Mr. Right (Don Cutler) and they are making plans for next summer, probably August. She got a pretty diamond for Christmas. Dennis will be in the Army next year with a commission.

And finally, Karla, our youngest. She is a high school sophomore. She likes to be on the honor roll, was initiated into the honor society, likes sports, dancing, and music.

We were surprised and pleased when Leslie was called again to serve in the Osmond Ward bishopric (1st coun.) last July. Along with my job as Relief Society President we don't find too many spare moments. We have members of our family in about every church organization and most of the boys are in Cub Scouting and one is well on his way in scouting to be an Eagle. We have several musicians, dancers, and singers as well as a few artists. What a blessed family!

So to all our friends, relatives, and casual acquaintances we wish you a great abundance of precious things—health, happiness, enduring friendships, and a feeling of sweet and great humility in our hearts and we repeat as someone has said, "The language of friendship is not words but memories." May each of us, in the New Year, be able to do the things in our plans that will be of greatest worth.

Love to you and yours,

Leslie and Maurine

(In 1967, Maurine T. Harrison signed up for a home study writing course with Famous Writers School. These are some of the pieces she submitted for her assignments.)

These first two stories, Boy and Dog on a Hilltop, and The Head of the Statue of Liberty, were written from her impressions of pictures given in the lesson.

BOY AND DOG ON A HILLTOP

Never was there a more appropriate name for my friend than Pal. I knew the minute we met that he was for me—his brown hair so sleek and shiny, his walk so dignified, his posture straight yet relaxed. Watching him run made me think immediately of rabbits on forest trails.

We were inseparable. Together we sat on the porch steps, climbed Knob Hill or played throwing and chasing sticks for hours. Although meat and milk were good foods for growing bodies, I still preferred peanut-butter sandwiches with jelly. These were also Pal’s favorites.

Cleanliness was something else we saw eye to eye. We resisted bathing with equal fervor. Rolling in the grass or sloshing through mud puddles ended in scoldings, but was worth it.

Once on a Saturday fishing trip to Cub River I spotted a rabbit and instantly went for it calling Pal as I ran. On returning from the chase, although I shouted repeatedly, Pal didn’t come. Thinking he’d return momentarily I lay in the cool willow shade and dozed.

The sun had set when I awoke. Jumping up I headed for home on the run, then remembered Pal and resolved not to return without him. In a frenzy, I ran back and forth calling him until I was completely exhausted. It was almost dark when the car drove up and stopped by the bridge. As the door opened, I saw Pal jump out and scramble down the steep bank to the river’s edge. In one bound we were together.

Yes, never was there a better friend for a dog than my boy, Pal.

HEAD OF THE STATUE OF LIBERTY

Great tears coursed down his wrinkled face as Morris, with hand held high, had pledged allegiance to his newly adopted country. For five years he’d been waiting for this moment when he could say, “I am an American citizen.”

Over the years he’d had mixed feelings about renouncing his homeland—the place of his birth, where his forefathers had lived and died, where he’d met and married his dear wife, the mother of his children, where this same wife was now buried and the realization that he, in a new land, wouldn’t be laid beside her in death.

And yet, this same fatherland hadn’t been kind to him. Being of Jewish ancestry, he’d been hated, tortured and imprisoned. Finally, he’d left all past distress behind and with a vision beyond to a world of new experience, had decided through the urging of his daughter and her fine husband and son, to spend his remaining days in the United States.

Well he remembered the day the boat had docked, how his grandson, Alex, had insisted on welcoming him from the Statue of Liberty at which he knew his grandfather would be looking. Alex had climbed the many steps and had waved his flag furiously and shouted at the top of his voice, “Hey, Grandpa! Grandpa! Welcome to America!” It mattered not that his grandfather nor anyone on the ship could hear him; he waved happily and enthusiastically.

Now, as Morris received his citizenship papers, it was as if he were hearing, loud and clear, the words as Alex had shouted them. “Welcome to America, Grandpa!”

EMPTY WASTE BASKETS (a true story)

As the newscaster announced a bill prohibiting outdoor trash burning, my mind flashed back to the last time I burned papers in an open bonfire. Just remembering sent a chill down my spine.

After lighting the fire I realized the slight breeze was getting stronger and there could be danger to buildings nearby. I decided to quench the fire as there were burning scraps of paper flying in the wind. I started for a pail and discovered a tiny fire burning in some dry weeds. Hurrying to the milk house and grabbing a bucket in each hand, I dipped them both at once into the brimming milk cooler and ran to the fire. It had now spread in all directions to about three feet in diameter. I splashed on the water hurriedly and raced back for more, this time turning the taps on full force. Time after time—running both ways—I poured water on the fire, but realized it was a losing battle and that while I was wetting one side the other side was spreading rapidly.

In my mind’s eye I could see the dry old chicken coop, now used to store bedding straw, go up in flames, and that wasn’t the worst! The barn, granary and new coop would go as well, also a load of hay recently piled there. Just over the fence a neighbor’s barn was in the line of wind and would surely be burned along with a partly filled hay shed.

In desperation I started to the house to call the fire department, but went back to the buckets instead as the wind was getting stronger. My husband was working in a nearby field. The tractor was headed my way and I thought he likely had seen me and was coming to my aid. As he reached the fence I hailed him. He merely waved his hand in greeting. The smoldering fire was invisible to him.

Across the road a neighbor and his wife drove onto the highway. Surely they could see that I desperately needed assistance and would call the firemen, but no, they were looking in the other direction at some cattle.

Frantically realizing there was no help available, I tried to hasten knowing I was alone with my problem. No, not alone---. I had needed help before and had found it kneeling quietly and supplicating the Lord in reverence. Now, however, I ran for more water, praying aloud as I ran.

The fire was about twenty feet across, but I had a splendid idea. As I poured water from each pail I scraped the wet earth back over the burned area. It spread no more. Back and forth I rushed realizing my strength was ebbing. However, I was calmer and saw that I was actually winning the battle. I slackened my pace and realized I had witnessed a small miracle in answer to prayer.

Yes, trash burning is such a simple, easy task, but I never again burned it without a proper incinerator.

EASY ENOUGH FOR A CHILD (another true story)

They say there must always be a time when one stops being a child and begins acting grown-up. This was jarred home to me quite emphatically not long ago when I decided I could ride a motorbike.

“Look, Terry, Grandma is going to ride the Honda around the house,” five-year-old Debbie, excitedly jumping up and down, announced to her brother.

“Okay, here goes!” I said with false confidence as I stepped on the gear pedal and moved slowly forward. As I did so I felt a moment’s panic, but here I was driving along. I thought of the man falling twenty floors and as he passed the tenth he said, “All’s well so far.” All wasn’t well with me, however, as I was getting to the fence faster than I was making the turn.

“Put your feet back on!”

“Turn!”

“Turn, Grandma!”

“She’s going to get hurt!”

I didn’t hear any of these remarks and not once did I think of the brake. In making the first turn I had accelerated the gas on the hand feed. In a split second I remembered my sister who had jumped from a motorbike her son was driving and how seriously her leg had been cut on the license plate. Well, I wouldn’t jump off.

Hitting the fence, the machine tipped over. I reached over and shut off the gas that had been pushed on full force by the net wire. My watching audience, husband, daughters, and grandchildren were instantly by my side. In turning the key off it was discovered that the hand brake had been pulled on as the gas had been. Otherwise, the power of the engine, no doubt, would have taken it and me through the net and barbed-wire fence.

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Oh, Mama, I’m sorry I insisted you could ride it.”

My left leg, I knew, was hurt. The pain was not excruciating but was very intense. Blood was running down the front and already it was swollen and purple from the knee to the instep. An ugly, red splotch was also appearing at the side of my knee, a burn.

“It doesn’t hurt,” I lied. “It’s all right. It’ll be fine.” We walked into the house. Very bravely, I wasn’t going to let anyone see me limp.

I sat with cold compresses on my elevated leg and pondered over just what I’d done wrong. Without a doubt, almost everything I did was wrong. The nearest I’d been to motorcycles was to ride ‘side-saddle” on a Harley-Davidson forty years ago behind my sister’s beau. It was about as sensible as thinking one could swim after watching the Olympics.

Yet that is exactly what I’d done. I’d been watching first one and then another all day riding the two motorcycles in the nearby field. There was my 16-year-old daughter, who had never ridden one until today, riding like a pro, and my two grand-daughters ages 12 and 13, speeding over bumps so they could jump the machine, and there was my husband circling the field at a slow and easy pace. Did I think that with a half-minute’s instruction it would be easy?

Other family members had learned to ride on a straightaway, while I’d been trying to make a circle around the house dodging fence, clothesline, picnic table and children. Well, I’d just as well have forgotten the other obstacles. I hadn’t even made it past the fence.

For the next two weeks I pretended my hurt wasn’t painful, but was careful to keep it well protected. And even though it’s easy enough for child’s play, someday I’m determined to learn to ride that Honda if I get another chance.

THE BEGINNING

Fourteen-year-old Karla was just closing the front door as I entered the living room, dust cloth in hand. “Boy! Am I glad that day’s over!” she said sinking into the overstuffed chair, long legs dangling over one arm and head resting on the other, giving a mock picture of one completely at the end of her rope.

“Now, that’s a strange remark on your first day,” I teased. “Especially after I assured you that high school was so much fun.”

“Well, if this is a sample of the next four years I think I’ll just quit right here. I wonder if winning the trip to the State Fair was worth missing the first two days of school.”

“You went so early this morning I thought you could get everything all straightened out before school started,” I reminded her. “I thought you registered last spring. Didn’t you get the classes you wanted?”

Slowly the day’s events unraveled. “Well, first off, the Home Ec. class was filled, so they put down that I would take French that period. I want to take French sometime, but not when I’m a freshman, but I had to get a release because I’d been assigned.”

The French teacher was my friend and I wondered how he’d taken her refusing the class. “Oh, he was all right, but said, ‘I didn’t think you’d take it.’ I took my French release and went to biology class, another not previously registered for and the teacher said, ‘What did they send you here for? There aren’t enough books for the ones we have now.’ He did let me stay, though. No telling when I’ll get a book. There’s another girl without one, too.

“Our English class had just begun when the principal announced over the intercom that all students not previously registered last week should meet in room 31. I asked Miss Reeves if I could go and she said, ‘Not yet.’ When the class was half over she remembered and let me go. I got to room 31 and the instructor there complained because I was late.”

“You did have a day, didn’t you?” I sympathized. “I guess nothing but good can happen after that bad start.”

“Oh, it wasn’t all bad. I met some groovy kids and the bright spot of the day was Seminary class. Mr. Garner thought I looked familiar. Remember, he talked in Church last summer? As I came into the room he quietly said, ‘Do I know you?’ I smiled and nodded. Still with a quizzical look he leaned over and whispered, ‘What’s your name?’ I whispered back, ‘Karla Crane.’ He remembered me then. I think I’ll like that class. He’s a very inspiring teacher. Anyway, whenever he spoke to me for the rest of the class period he’d whisper. It was hilarious.

“Getting my locker was another headache. The registrar said there wasn’t a single locker left, but many were sharing the double lockers. She finally found a girl I knew from last year, so that turned out Okay. You should see those halls between classes and especially at noon. And that’s something else again—lunch. We hurried to get to the cafeteria and when we finally made it up front they had half-cooked, soggy pizza! The buttered corn wasn’t bad and the cherry cobbler was delicious, but the girl just ahead of me took the last of the milk so I had to have chocolate. It just didn’t go too well with the pizza or pudding.”

“How were the kids for dress?” I asked.

“You know, that was really a shock to me. I didn’t see one mini-skirt or one long-haired boy. I suppose any tendency to them was nipped in the bud the first day of school. I heard the kids were warned they’d be sent home or to the barber if they didn’t uphold school policy of no extremes.”

Continuing my dusting, I said, “I’m glad the important things in school are fine and that the day ended better than it started for you.”

“Well, hardly. Lynn has a new bus and I wasn’t watching and slipped when I got in and skinned my shin and ruined a good pair of nylons, and then it was so crowded I stood up all the way home. They’re going to put part of the kids on Bert’s bus tomorrow, so it won’t be so hectic.”

“Oh, well,” she said. Then in one rolling movement she stood up, walked to the piano, sat on the bench and ran her slender fingers over the keys in the lilting melody of the “Rustic Dance” and one could almost feel the tensions of the day drop away and a pleasant relaxed feeling fill the room in a resolution that tomorrow was another day and she was determined that it would be a better one.

THE RETURN

After a few years absence from your home town, returning is comparable to meeting a friend you haven’t seen for a long time. The nostalgia of seeing things almost forgotten, but still familiar helps you recall signposts along the way. You’ve been traveling for hundreds of miles in unfamiliar territory and suddenly realize that things you’re seeing are things you’ve seen before and you’re within two miles of your destination—the old homestead.

You are at the outskirts of Newtown where the black-topped highway is split down the middle with a raised median strip, used for walking between lanes of traffic. Jay-walking is not prohibited here. The elk horn arch spanning the center street is said to be the largest in the world, containing 3,000 antlers gather from feed grounds after being shed—a process through which elk pass annually. At each end of the arch is a gateway bow, squatting like the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

As you pass under the arch you find you are halfway through the country metropolis whose major business district is contained in one block. Just beyond the city limits you wonder at the great number of yellow and black agricultural spray planes parked in what seems to be the center of a farmer’s alfalfa field. You are shocked to discover that this tiny hamlet has an airplane factory and realize these planes have just come from the assembly line.

You’ve reached the farming district now, where dwellings are small and scattered. Each farm has a large barn and a larger hayshed stuffed with recently harvested crops ready for the winter feed lots. Holstein cattle dot the pastures black and white and you know you’re in dairy country.

As you gaze west you see miles of sprinkler pipes shooting out their life-giving moisture to the second-crop hay. You’re rounding the big bend at last and notice that one of the largest and most productive farms in the area is being converted into a golf course and is being worked by several large pieces of road-building equipment.

Across the highway the beaver farm with its individual cement houses is on the corner section next to the old Swiss cheese factory on the Fairview lane. The factory is changed now into an auto salvage and car repair shop. The large cottonwood trees banking the old Dry Creek spillway cut a wide diagonal line down through the center of the wrecked-car lot. Only at high water runoff time is there water in the creek anymore.

As you begin to apply your brakes, you find on your right the frame house has been replaced by two ultra-modern fifty-foot mobile homes. With signal lights blinking, you turn left into the shale approach and stop beside the blue and white house. This is where you had begun the trip you thought would last a week but has actually kept you away from the farmstead for five long years.

EXPANDING ON THE SENTENCE: “The Car Hit the Tree”

Three-year-old Noel, Jr. climbed into the front seat of his daddy’s company car and turned on the ignition key. The car, being in low gear, leaped forward with the small boy at the wheel. His parents in the house, hearing the car start, bounded to the door and stood in stark horror as they watched the rear wheels disappear behind the house. They knew they were helpless to do anything. Then as they raced to the corner of the house, they heard a grinding thud as the car hit the low-branched pine tree and stopped.

UNUSED QUOTE FROM GRANDSON: 3 year old Lance came dragging his coat across the floor, knowing he should have it on but no time for it and declaring, “My is going out to help catch she.”

JUNE

“Okay, son, what’ll it be, breakfast or lunch?” The words spoken by Policeman Condos were kind and meaningful to ten-year-old June. It was eleven a.m. and the boy hadn’t eaten for eighteen hours. Already, Mike, the diner proprietor, was mixing a cup of warm milk with strawberry flavored powder which he knew would sit well in a hungry boy’s stomach. June recalled as he stirred the granules that his six-year-old twin sisters referred to it as ‘pink cocoa.’

Yes, it did taste delicious and that was a little strange because he considered ‘pink cocoa’ a sissy drink. In fact, it was the thought of being a sissy that had gotten him into all the difficulty in the first place. It was the last week of school and his room was going on a hike into the nearby hills. June had anticipated the fun he and his friends would have. And then it happened: his teacher, Miss Bruce, always friendly and understanding, was taken ill and a substitute would replace her for the remaining few days. Even at first glance, one could tell that old bespectacled Mrs. Beal would be a definite drawback on a hike. But here she was, going down the roll picking leaders for groups.

“June Asbury,” she read without looking up. “You will take your group of girls around the point to Crow Spring.” Quiet titters were heard. “John Bart, you and the boys will climb the hill and come down the shale slide to the spring.” When the soft giggling continued, Mrs. Beal inquired and was told that June was a boy. Although she quickly corrected her mistake the students didn’t let it drop there. At recess they teased June for being “one of the girls” until he was more angry and distressed than he had ever been in his life. His resentment was growing to include his parents who were the cause of this disgrace for calling him June.

After supper, he went to his room intending to work on his rock collection, but was uninterested. Still smarting from embarrassment, he put a few clothes into his bandana and decided to leave, have a hike of his own, and maybe never return to his home town.

He was chilled when Officer Condos, one of a search party, had rescued him, but spending a night alone on a ledge unable to get either back up the mountain or down had given him a lot of time to think of the school situation. He would have laughed, too.

However, he was relieved with the knowledge disclosed by Sgt. Condos that his parents had decided it was time he should be called by his given name, George Edward Asbury, even though it had seemed to them such a clever idea to call him June, both for his birth month and Junior after his father. It was also time he answered Officer Condos. “Would it be all right if I had some ham and eggs and a piece of that lemon pie?”

AN UNFINISHED STORY: (a few words were added by the editor where necessary to get the meaning)

“Come back here, you damn dog!” The words were shouted by Dad B. standing barefoot in the doorway with only his wool logger breeches on. There was no malice or hate in his words, though they sounded bad. The sight before him was funny and unbelievable. Around the house bolted a young doe deer. Right on its heels was Boots, the mongrel dog. Making a wild dive for Boots was Mother B. trying to catch the dog yet stay out of the path of the deer.

It had all started when 8 year old Alan excitedly shouted, “Mother! Come see the deer! It looks like it’s caught in the fence.” He came two steps at a time downstairs one early morning in January. It was a bleak, crisp and cold morning in Wyoming. The thermometer had dipped to 20 below zero.

Slowly and steadily Alan’s brother, Ron, made his way to free the stranded doe. Pushing a wire down and holding the other up, he carefully released the frightened animal, which, instead of going up the nearby hill, started for the house on a slow trot. It was just beautiful with those big ears cocked forward and the graceful legs hesitantly jumping through the deep snow.

Just about the time it got to the trail the dog saw it, too, and started for it. Ron yelled but Boots wouldn’t mind. He wasn’t going to be denied that chase when his prey was so close. The cabin being so close to the mountain, you’d naturally think the deer would climb up away from human smell, but around the house it sprung, jumping ten or twelve feet at a time. That doe went around the house three times, the dog right behind it and Mother B. trying to grab the dog every time it passed. The kids had jumped out of bed and with noses pressed against the windows were watching the excitement.

WHY I AM STUDYING WRITING

Thoughts of why I’m studying writing have been crowded out constantly by thoughts of doubt and questionable talent; but then I’m reminded of what someone said, that “A man is no greater than his thoughts, decisions, and faith.” Could this also apply to a fifty-three-year old grandmother?

When in high school, my favorite subject was English, especially literature, and for several years I read at least three books a week. Then as I was married and my family was growing, I was unable to continue reading, except for children’s stories—of which I have a great store—and my reading was limited.

Now, with my family mostly grown I am again able to spend more time doing things I have been wanting to, such as studying, reading and writing. As the family has been growing up, we have had some choice experiences, both serious and comical. I can truly testify that with a family of eight there is ‘never a dull moment.’ I have often spoken of compiling these experiences in a book. Such a book would likely be interesting to the family written in any way, but someone with training should be able to write and hold the attention of other readers. I think I have some interesting ideas to impart to others and have wanted to learn how to express these things in writing so they would benefit from my observations and experiences.

Already in this course I have been told many times to write of things I know; so with this in mind and because of the encouragement of my family and friends, as well as Joe Morrow, Famous Writers representative, who called on me and went over my original test, insisting that according to my answers I did have definite possibilities, I was persuaded to enroll and so far, as I have read and studied the course, I’m very enthusiastic. Already I’ve been inspired with several ideas for writing later on in the course and I’ve had some enjoyable hours reading and analyzing the books I’ve read for home study.

I have written several talks to be presented in church meetings and have planned and presented road show acts and programs to be given in family reunions, Christmas programs, and PTA meetings. I have neglected to keep writing, however, because as I have observed, we usually do the things requiring attention now and don’t trouble ourselves about something we may never be called on to present.

I am gaining a greater insight into what might be my own possibilities as I contemplate the lessons ahead. I am reminded of what my six-year-old son lamented on the first day of school, that “I’m afraid I don’t know enough words.” As likely has been observed, I have a limited vocabulary. But I am willing to learn and study. Otherwise I never would have enrolled in such an ambitious course.

A collection of favorite poetry follows.

When Mother Had the Aid

Mother'd simply have a fit if she knew I had heard,

But honestly I didn't tell a soul a single word.

You see, I heard her talking to her sister, my Aunt Sue.

She said she didn't want it, but, Land, what could she do?

She said she knew she had it, (she meant the Ladies Aid),

Oftener than anybody else. Those are the words she said.

She said of course she'd take them but really she'd be hung

If she could have her ruthers, and then right up she sprung

And says, “We'll have to clean this house from top way down to toe,

For when those Ladies’ Aiders come, no tellin' where they'll go.”

She says that's one thing makes her mad to have them run about

Lettin' on they want to help when they're just spying out.

Does she clean up her pantry shelves, and is her stove all blacked,

And are her dishes nice and fine, or are they old and cracked.

And Auntie Sue said, "Darn it!" She almost never swears,

"We'll have to borrow dishes and we'll have to borrow chairs,

For you can bet there'll be a crowd, they'll manage to get here,

I wish it would just pour," she said, "so no one could come near."

Then Father, he spoke up and said, "Just let me know the day

So I can make arrangements to be out of the way.

For it's cackle, cackle, and it's cackle, cackle, cack,

If I should be a mile away, I’d hear them there and back."

Then he went out and slammed the door, but they just said and smiled,

"Thank goodness he's disposed of, but oh, that awful child!"

That's mostly what they call me, 'less there's company around,

Once I thought I’d run away and get all dead and drowned.

Well it came and was the day, and I hung ‘round and played,

For always there are cakes and things and sometimes lemonade.

And Auntie Sue and mother got awful nice and kind,

But I knew I’d catch it later if I wasn't good and mind,

And I didn't let them see me till I heard the folks arrive,

And then I edged in kind of shy, but my land sakes alive,

'Twas Dearie this and Dearie that, and how they smiled and smiled,

And I surely did get tickled when they called me "Honey child."

Well when mother and Aunt Sue had gone to get the things to eat,

I thought I’d entertain the folks and be real kind and sweet.

So I said to Mrs. Perkins, when they'd both of them gone out,

"Is that the awful old silk dress that mother talks about,

That you have worn a hundred years, and she says is such a fright?"

My land, you should have seen her face, it did look queer all right,

I thought she didn't want to talk and I have got some pride,

So I walked very dignified around the other side

And took a seat by Miss McPrim, a real dried-up old maid,

And trying hard to be polite, I spoke right up and said,

"Please tell me is it true, you're crazy for a man,

My mother says you set your cap for every one you can?"

She looked at me and stared at me till I felt all froze.

She must have not liked what I said, or something, I suppose.

So I talked to Mrs. Peterson about her only child.

I told her that my mother said she drove the women wild,

Always telling she's so smart, and she can talk and sing.

I told her that my mother said she was the freshest thing.

And that she needed to be spanked and showed her place she did,

And that she'd like a chance just once to shake that precious kid.

You know, those ladies sat so still, they never said a word,

Then, "Fools and children tell the truth," said one; that's all I heard.

And when they kept on being still, I thought I’d better speak,

So I said, "Father wasn't right 'bout what he said last week.

He said that he could hear you folks at least a mile away,

But he could stand that if there was some sense to what you say,

But he was wrong, for you're as still as anyone could be."

And do you know those ladies looked like they could strangle me.

Well when the Aid was over, and we were all alone,

Mother just dropped down and said, "Thank goodness they're all gone,

But didn't they look funny when they came to say goodbye,

And didn't they act awful queer," she said, and wondered why.

But I slipped to the kitchen and didn't hear the rest,

For all the places that I like, the Ladies' Aid is best.

Mother's Lap

I’m not as big as I will be,

I’m des a little chap

An' when I cry I can't tell why,

I run as fast as I can fly

An' climb on Muvver’s lap.

My muvver's lap's the nicest place

In all the world I know;

In it I creep and fall asleep

An' lie rolled up all in a heap,

An' 'en she hugs me so.

She says that soon I’ll be too big,

Too large for her to hold;

How that can be I cannot see,

An' des a little boy like me

An' only four years old.

I know I’ll cry, I know I will

When I’m a great big chap,

If I can't sit a little bit

An' not have folks make fun of it

‘Cause I’m in Muvver's lap.

Walt Filkin

Foolish Questions

You've heard of foolish questions, and no doubt you've wondered why

A person who will ask them, will expect a sane reply.

Did you ever bring a girl a box of candy after tea,

And notice how she grabs it and then says, "Is this for me?"

Foolish question you should answer when you can,

"No the candy's for your mother or for Joe, the hired man.

I just wanted you to see it, now I’ll take it all away."

Now that's a foolish question that you'll hear most every day.

Or if you’ve been away from town, for several days or weeks,

What is it that a friend will ask, the first time that he speaks?

He'll rush along to meet you, and he'll slap you on the back,

And almost knock you silly, as he hollers, "Are you back?"

Foolish question, and to answer in that line,

“Oh no, I haven't got back; why, I’m at Bingen on the Rhine.

I’m traveling in Europe. I won't be back till May.”

Now that's a foolish question that you'll hear most every day.

And then most every morning there is someone round the place

Who sees you take the shaving brush and lather up your face,

And as you give the razor a preliminary wave,

The fool will always ask you, "Are you going to take a shave?"

Foolish question, and your answer is I hope,

“No I’m really not at all prepared for shaving - but I like the taste of soap.

I just like to take the shaving brush and paint myself this way.”

Now that's a foolish question that you'll hear most every day.

And then you all have met the man who stops you on the way

And asks you where you're going and then listens while you say

You are going to the funeral of poor old Brother Ned

Then as soon as you have told him, he will say, "Why, is he dead?"

Foolish question, and you might as well reply,

“No, he always thought he'd have a funeral, then after awhile he'd die—

Brother Ned was so original that he wanted it that way.”

Now that's a foolish question that you'll hear most every day.

Or if you should have a caller, say some afternoon at five,

And as you sit conversing if the doctor should arrive,

Would your visitor be silent, do you think that she'd be still,

Or when she saw the doctor would she say, “Is someone ill?”

Foolish question, and you answer with a shrug,

“No there's no one ill, we simply have the doctor come to beat the parlor rug. Sometimes too, he tunes the grand piano when we want the thing to play,”

Now that's a foolish question that you'll hear most every day.

Supposing that an elevator boy forgot to close the door,

And you should tumble down the shaft past twenty-seven floors.

And as you reach the bottom and are lying quite inert

The first one that approaches will exclaim, "Why, are you hurt?"

Foolish question, and your dying words are, “No,

I was in awful rush, and this elevator runs too bloomin’ slow.

Some people even take the stairs, but I hurried down this way,”

Now that's a foolish question that you'll hear most every day.

Little Ah Sid

Little Ah Sid was a Chinese kid

A cute little boy, you'd declare.

With eyes full of fun and a nose that begun

Right up in the roots of his hair.

Jolly and fat was this frolicsome brat

As he played through the long summer day

Braiding his queue as his father used to

In China land far, far away.

Once over the lawn that Ah Sid played upon

A bumblebee flew in the spring.

Ah, "Melican bullafly" said he with a winking eye.

"Me catchie and pull off um wing."

And so with his hat, he struck it a rap

That innocent bumble bee

And put its remains in the seat of his jeans,

For a pocket there had the Chinee.

Then down on the green sat that little sardine

With a smile that was strangely demure,

And said with a grin that was brimful of sin,

"Me mashee um bullafly sure."

Now little Ah Sid was only a kid

Nor could you expect him to guess

What kind of a bug he was holding so snug

In the folds of his loose fitting dress.

"Ki yi, yip kip gee" Ah Sid cried

As he rose hurriedly up from the spot

"Ki yi, yubican, damn um Melican man,

That bullafly velly much hot!"

Oh, Mr. Gallagher

Oh, Mr. Gallagher, Oh, Mr. Gallagher,

What is on your mind this morning, Mr. Green?

Everybody's making fun of the way the country's run

And they think we'll soon be living European.

Oh, Mr. Green, Oh, Mr. Green,

Cost of living's gone so high that it's cheaper now to die.

Don't you think so Mr. Gallagher?

Absolutely, Mr. Green.

Oh, Mr. Gallagher, Oh, Mr. Gallagher,

Once I thought I saw you save a lady's life.

On a rowboat out to sea, you're a hero now to me,

And I thought some day you'd make that gal your wife.

Oh, Mr. Green, Oh, Mr. Green,

When she sunk I dove down like a submarine,

Pulled her out upon the shore,

Now she's mine forever more.

What, the lady, Mr. Gallagher?

No, the rowboat, Mr. Green.

One Night in Late October

One night in late October,

When I was far from sober,

Returning with my load with manly pride,

My feet began to stutter,

So I lay down in the gutter;

And a pig came near and lay down by my side.

A lady passing by was heard to say,

"You can tell a man who boozes

By the company he chooses."

And the pig got up and slowly walked away.

Tommy's Old Ford Car

She is scarred as if by battle

And her fenders shake and rattle.

Like a worn out sieve, her radiator leaks.

She goes rumbling down the highways

And goes bumping through the by-ways.

Every single thing about her groans and squeaks.

Her timer is crazy

Her cylinders are lazy.

Though she seldom runs on less than one or more.

While sometimes three are working

And only one is shirking

It has been known to hit upon all four.

Through the holes torn in her cover

You can see the skies above her

And her jerky gait reminds you of a toad.

Since the day that Tommy bought her

She has been untouched by water

And the mud upon her windshield hides the road.

She's all vibrate and quiver

And there's things the matter with her

That no mechanic in the world could ever fix.

She's been run down this long while

And is ready for the junkpile.

But her glaring lights look like a super six.

Although she is no beauty

She's a bear to do her duty

And she takes Tommy where'er he wants to roam.

Though she's neither fast nor frisky

And to travel in her is risky

Still she always seems to somehow stagger home.

Sailor Jack

Sailor Jack went out one night

To get a little gin.

He went into the landlord's house,

But the landlord wasn't in.

He rapped, he rapped, he rapped, he rapped,

He rapped all night in vain;

When all of a sudden a tap, tap, tap

Upon the windowpane.

Up to the window he turned his eyes

And there a maid he spied.

He thought by the way that she tap, tap, tapped

That she would be his bride.

"Come down, come down", said Sailor Jack,

"And sit on the porch with me."

So down she came and sat on the porch

As pretty as ever, you see.

Oh, they billed and they cooed,

And they kissed and they loved,

They hugged and they squeezed,

And they turtledoved,

They honeyed and they sweetied,

And they baby-bye pet

They sparked and cuddled and there they set.

When all of a sudden here came her father

Driving the village hack.

With a roar and a beller and a "Hey, young feller,"

He started for Sailor Jack.

Jack lit out with a yip and a shout,

For life to him was sweet,

And his peg leg went tap, tap, tap,

Along the village street.

"Goodbye, my lover", the maiden cried,

“I hope you don't get killed."

The old man grabbed his pistol out

With powder and bullets filled.

Jack ran into a big fat lady

And fell in the puddle kersplash,

The old man's pistol went tap, tap, tap,

As down the road they dashed.

O, they raced and they chased

And they galloped and they crawled,

They snarled and they yelled

And they hollered and they bawled.

They dodged and they ducked

And they hopped up and down,

Back and forth

And around and around.

Jack climbed up into a tree,

And thought he'd save his skin;

But a woodpecker pecked at his old peg leg

And drove him down again.

Jack ran into a neighbor's barn.

The old man followed him in.

But the mule got sore and whaled away,

And kicked them out again.

Sailor Jack, he ran kersmack

Into the constable

Who joined the chase with the gal's old man,

The fat lady, and the mule.

They chased the sailor round and round

And around a big haystack,

The old man ran around the other way

And he grabbed poor Sailor Jack.

Oh, Jack hit her pappy, and her pappy hit back.

Their noses got bloody and their eyes got black.

They wrestled and they tussled

And they cussed and they swore.

They barked their knuckles,

And their clothes they tore.

The old mule brayed, the fat lady screamed,

The constable let out a yell.

He took the old man by the collar

And locked him in the cell.

Sailor Jack, he hurried back,

The maiden, for to wed;

But found that she had gone

And married a soldier boy instead.

Oh, poor Jack cried

And he bellered and he swore.

He grabbed him a ship

And sailed from shore.

He sailed away as fast as sin,

And that is the last they've seen of him.

The Error

or When You Take Off Your Shoes in Church

Be Sure You Look when You Put Them On

We all went down to Conference

We Relief Society friends,

The journey is so pleasant

We're sorry when it ends.

I got dressed up so fancy

In just the latest style

My hat, my dress, my shoes, and coat

I even wore a smile.

We enjoyed the morning session,

The Authorities spoke so plain,

We were taught that by our actions

Our families we can train.

As soon as it was over

We hurried down the street,

We were going to the dining room,

Our lunch we had to eat.

My shoes were fitting rather tight.

I had a brand new pair,

I thought my feet had swollen

I’d get some lower heels somewhere.

I noticed when my friend glanced down

She looked a little shocked,

So I looked too, and then I gasped,

I had the strangest walk.

I couldn't take another step,

We laughed till we thought we'd die,

My face turned red from to head to toe,

I thought I’d have to cry.

It looked so funny, but you know,

This thing I’ll not repeat,

I changed them right there on the walk

My shoes were on the wrong feet.

Barnacle Bill the Sailor

"Who's that knocking at my door?

Who's that knocking at my door?

Who's that knocking at my door?"

Cried the fair, young maiden.

"It's only me from over the sea,"